What Are Allies For?
by Hikari Kaitou
Summary: Germany hates looking weak in front of other people, particularly the one he loves most. So when he finds himself sick, he tries his best to hide it from Italy. He didn't intend for that to hurt him.


**A/N:** Another deanonning from the kink meme. Enjoy!

* * *

Germany peered miserably up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he dried his face after washing away the last traces of shaving cream. His brows furrowed in distaste at the state of the man staring back at him. He looked almost as awful as he felt; the recent recession had seen to that. His stinging eyes were a bit bloodshot and ringed with shadows from lack of sleep thanks to the discomfort brought on by his cold, his nose red from being blown too often, his cheeks flushed with fever. He blinked rapidly at the sensation of another sneeze creeping up on him and muffled it with a tissue snatched hastily from the box on the counter. A little hiss of pain escaped him as he rubbed the chapped skin beneath his nose with the tissue.

All he wanted was to crawl back into bed with a cup of hot chicken-noodle soup and burrow into his covers for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, this was not an option. Unlike a human cold, a nation's illness could not be cured by spending a few days in bed. A recession-induced cold could only be cured by doing something to invigorate the economy. That, of course, took work. Certainly, he had the option of leaving that work up to his government, but Germany, being a logical man, realized that the process could be expedited if he worked alongside them. After all, a nation had a much longer lifespan than any human and he had therefore accumulated more experience in dealing with such matters.

Therefore, Germany had resigned himself to long hours, reviewing proposals, pouring over stats and listening to presentations. It was somewhat embarrassing to have to attend meetings while chugging hot tea and cold medicine, surrounded by boxes of tissues and bundled up in his winter coat to combat his symptoms but it was just something he had to deal with. At least his fever had decreased slightly to a more manageable 103.2 degrees. Last week, it had been so high that he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness during his work and his worried assistants had been forced to take him to the hospital.

Germany coughed hoarsely as he put paste on his toothbrush. He brushed irritably at the few strands of hair that had slipped from his usual slicked-back style to hang in his eyes but couldn't bring himself to care enough to dig out the hair gel again. The decrease in his fever indicated that their economic revitalization strategies were working. With any amount of luck, he'd be feeling better soon and maybe even be able to join Italy for that outing that the smaller man kept emailing him about.

His eyes slipped closed as he thought of his bubbly Italian lover, the mere memory of his constant energetic state making him feel even more tired than before. True, Germany loved him and wouldn't trade him for anyone in the world but there was no denying that having to sort out the messes that Italy unintentionally made was exhausting at the best of times. It had been a few months since Germany had been able to see Italy in person and even he had to admit that he missed him. At the same time, however, he was thankful that he didn't have to deal with his usual antics when he was already feeling so under the weather.

He suspected that it was only because Italy had been so busy with his new boss lately that he had been able to keep him out of his hair for a while. If Italy hadn't been wrapped up in his own affairs, he was sure that he would have long since found out about Germany's illness and paid him a visit or ten. The last thing he needed when he was sick and up to his ears in work was to have Italy fussing over him. A mental image popped into his head, one of himself in bed, snuggled up next to Italy who was cooing sweetly at him in Italian as he spoon-fed him hot soup. If his already fever-flushed face had been capable of reddening any further, he probably would have blushed at the thought.

Having finished his morning preparations, Germany sighed and straightened his jacket and tie in a half-hearted attempt to make himself look a bit more presentable. Not that it really mattered if his clothes were straight; he was going to put on his winter coat to venture out into the balmy spring weather and there was a good chance he wouldn't take it off again until he climbed into bed that night. God, he looked awful. After pausing to blow his sore nose one last time, Germany turned off the bathroom light and made his way dizzily to the train station.

* * *

Germany started violently when the door to his office suddenly flew open. The sudden interruption had startled him out of a doze he hadn't realized he'd slipped into, the hand that had been holding his pen jerking and striking a bold red line across the proposal he'd been reviewing. His attempt to swear under his breath turned into a hurriedly stifled coughing fit. The blond glanced up at the doorway with hazy sapphire eyes to see who had burst in on him so rudely.

If he'd had the energy, he might have jumped to his feet and given his unwelcome visitor a piece of his mind for startling him like that. In his current state, however, he could only sigh wearily. There, in the door, stood Italy, smiling brightly as though nothing could make him happier than being in the same room as Germany. In the Italian's defense, it had been quite a while since they had seen each other. Admittedly, Germany would have been a bit happier to see him under normal circumstances. After all, Italy had been interrupting his work for years and by now he had come to expect it.

"Germany! You're here!" Italy trilled. "My boss said I could go home early today so I decided to visit! Wah, I'm so happy to see you!"

"Italy," the blond said shortly with a curt nod of his painfully throbbing head. "Sorry, but this isn't a good time. I've got hours of work ahead of me."

Hopefully he could deflect the other man's attention before he noticed Germany's condition. It was embarrassing enough that all the members of his staff had witnessed his pathetic state. He didn't need his lover, whom he was determined to remain strong in front of as he always had, to know as well.

"Ve, Germany's voice sounds funny!" Italy commented with a laugh. "Do you need a drink?"

Germany sniffled discreetly. His throat was feeling rather dry and scratchy and he could probably use some water, even if it would hurt as it went down. But he could get that himself. Right now, it was more important that he got rid of Italy before he realized that his beloved boyfriend had a terrible cold. His first impulse was to get up and shoo Italy out the door physically, but he could feel another wave of dizziness coming over him and realized that if he tried to stand, he would probably lose his balance. He would have to get rid of him verbally.

"I'll get it myself," he said, putting real (futile) effort into making his voice sound less croaky. "Please, Italy, I'm very busy. I'll call you when I'm done with work, ok?"

Italy pouted briefly but at the same time, he couldn't help admiring his lover's work ethic just a little.

"Ok," he agreed, flashing him an understanding smile. "I'll see you tonight then."

Germany was about to tell him that he wouldn't be finished until probably the middle of the night and there was no need to wait up for him when Italy began to approach him instead of leaving. In his feverish confusion, Germany could only watch in vague, dazed dread as Italy skipped forward, leaned over the desk and pressed a goodbye kiss to his forehead. To his horror, Italy lingered there. Obviously, he had noticed the abnormal warmth of the skin beneath his lips. After a moment of awkward silence, the smaller man drew away slowly to fix Germany with a gaze of concern.

"Germany…" he began.

The blond jerked away from him, feeling as though his whole face was on fire with the magnitude of his mortification. It didn't help that he could feel his nose starting to itch again. Germany sniffled again, swiveling in his office chair so that his back was to Italy, and held his breath, trying to choke back the sneeze that was trying to sneak up on him and making his eyes water. He failed to suppress it and two others followed it as if to spite him for trying. Well, there went his hopes of being able to get rid of his boyfriend before he noticed his condition. God, he hated looking so weak in front of other people, even if the other person was Italy.

Italy appeared at his side, resting a hand on Germany's broad shoulder and offering him a tissue and a small, sympathetic smile. "Maybe it would be better if Germany went home for tonight," he suggested.

Germany accepted the proffered tissue and dabbed at his nose silently, eyes averted in shame, until Italy tugged him gently to his feet.

* * *

The next hour and a half or so was fuzzy in Germany's fevered mind. He was pretty sure he remembered Italy leading him onto the train, accompanying him home and helping him into his pajamas and bed. But he must have nodded off sometime after that, because the next thing that he was aware of was Italy supporting him as he sat up and setting a tray bearing a bowl of piping hot chicken-noodle soup and a glass of orange juice on his lap. Germany stirred the steaming soup absentmindedly to help it cool.

Italy picked up a plastic bag from the floor and joined his boyfriend in bed. Germany rubbed his eyes. He must have been asleep for a decent chunk of time if Italy had had time to go to the store and make soup from scratch without him even being aware that he had left. The smaller man fished a white paper box full of strange silver packets from the depths of the bag. Germany was too dizzy and miserable to read the words on the box but Italy ripped open the packet, pealed the thin plastic backing off the gel patch from inside and stuck it to Germany's forehead. He shivered as the odd cooling sensation from the patch spread through him, recognizing it as something to ease his fever.

Italy coaxed Germany into leaning against him and began to stroke his hair lightly while Germany took the first spoonful of his soup. It was a shame he could hardly taste anything thanks to his illness because he knew from experience that Italy's cooking was delicious. The two of them sat in relative silence as Germany ate, which would have surprised him if he hadn't been so out of it. It wasn't until a droplet of moisture fell on his exposed collarbone that he realized why Italy wasn't saying anything.

"I-Italy, what is it?" he choked. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry," Italy sobbed, attempting to wipe away his tears. "It's just… th-this is the first time I've seen Germany so s-sick… It's s-scary!"

Germany opened his mouth to point out that he had been far worse after each of the world wars before recalling that Italy had been pretty delirious with his own economic issues at those times and probably didn't remember. Italy was crying and nuzzling his shoulder vigorously, threatening to spill the little bit of soup that was left on the tray in his lap, so he set the tray on the bedside table. Once Germany's lap was clear, Italy climbed onto it, hugging him tightly. Germany cleared his scratchy throat awkwardly and patted Italy's back.

"I've lived through much worse before," he assured him hoarsely. "I'll be fine soon enough. My fever's already starting to go down."

"Germany didn't even t-tell me he was sick!" the Italian wailed. "If I h-hadn't stopped by, I w-wouldn't even know! We said we l-love each other, but Germany won't even tell me when he's d-dying! H-he would have just disappeared and l-left me all alone without s-saying anything at all! I…I don't want to b-be alone again…!"

Germany felt terrible. What had he been thinking, trying to keep his illness from Italy? Even if what Germany had was nothing but a bad cold, he should have come clean to him about it from the start. He knew how Italy tended to blow things out of proportion, especially when he thought someone he cared about might be leaving him. And really, who could blame him after his experiences with Holy Roman Empire and his grandpa Rome? This wasn't some irrational fear; the loss of loved ones was something Italy had already had to deal with twice. Of course, the smaller man would have probably still panicked even if Germany had told him from the first sign of a sniffle, but at least he wouldn't have trust issues to compound with his fear of loss.

"Look, I'm not dying, ok?" he mumbled. "It's just a cold. I… I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it… I just… didn't want you to see me looking so pathetic… So don't cry anymore."

Italy lifted his tearful amber gaze to meet Germany's, his bottom lip trembling pitifully. Germany's heart panged guiltily at the knowledge that he had brought such an expression to his lover's face and he wiped his tears away gently.

"Will Germany promise me?" Italy asked quietly. "Promise to tell me next time you need help?"

Germany shifted uncomfortably.

"When we first became allies, we promised to help each other when the other was in a pinch…" Italy reminded him, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I'm weak and I haven't been able to help Germany much so far, but… I still want to try to be useful to you. And if you're not feeling well and need some hot food, a warm hug and a long siesta, that's something I can definitely help with, so… So please, Germany…"

The little Italian sniffled as tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks again. "I love Germany very much, so… don't hide your pain from me anymore, ok?"

The blond blushed hotly under Italy's pleading stare. Even though he and Italy had been in a relationship for decades and he had witnessed the depth of Italy's love so many times before, it never failed to shock him. How could he have gone from being hated and feared by everyone around him to having the sweetest, sincerest lover anyone could ever ask for? It was embarrassing to admit, even to himself, but Italy's affection meant the world to him and he would do pretty much anything in his power to keep it.

Germany forced himself to meet Italy's eyes, even as his face burned and his head swam unpleasantly. "A-alright, then… I… ahem, I promise."

The sight of the honey-sweet smile on Italy's face was completely worth the amount of pride Germany had to swallow in order to make that promise. He leaned forward and touched a chaste kiss to Germany's slightly chapped lips. The blond didn't have the heart to scold him for kissing a sick person; he was too relieved to see Italy smiling again.

"How about a siesta now?" Italy suggested. "We can take it together. Germany looks like he hasn't had much sleep recently."

"Hmph… I suppose I might as well," Germany mumbled self-consciously, averting his eyes to the sheets. "We're already in bed and everything."

His lover pushed him into a reclining position.

"I bought this to help your cough and stuffy nose," Italy reported, digging around in the plastic bag again and pulling out a stout blue bottle of an unknown substance. "The shop assistant said it should help you breathe so that you can sleep better."

The Italian unbuttoned the first few buttons on Germany's pajama shirt before unscrewing the lid of the bottle and dipping his fingers into it. Germany was silent as Italy's warm, graceful fingers rubbed the cream gently onto his chest. His nose began to clear immediately as the scent of menthol washed over him. His congestion had spanned a few weeks now; he had forgotten just how glorious it felt to be able to breathe. Italy smiled at the look of relief on his boyfriend's face.

With the medication applied and Germany looking much more comfortable, Italy re-buttoned his shirt, pulled the blankets up around the taller man's shoulders and curled up beside him. To Italy's surprise and delight, Germany shifted so that his feverish cheek was resting against Italy's chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of the blond head as he held him close. Germany's eyelids fluttered sleepily as Italy began to hum softly, some Italian lullaby that he was pretty sure Italy had sung for him before, though he couldn't remember when.

As much as he hated looking weak in front of others, Germany couldn't deny the fact that having a warm body to snuggle up to while he napped was quite nice. The way Italy's chest vibrated lightly as he sang was strangely soothing. It wasn't long before Italy's melodic voice managed to lull him into a refreshingly deep and dreamless sleep.


End file.
